


frostbite

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Softober, feat. thirteen in a beanie, soft, thasmin, thasmin go shopping, winter shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: After inviting the Doctor along to a shopping trip, Yaz quickly finds herself doing more babysitting than retail therapy.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 67
Collections: Softober





	frostbite

The air is crisp and dry in a special kind of cold only winter mornings can offer. Above, candy floss clouds threaten snow flurries. In the surrounding city, morning dew freezes to frost and clings to the corners of window panes to await its midday dissolve. 

Yaz slows her jog to a careful saunter when she finds ice seeping between the paves in front of her apartment complex. The TARDIS is parked in its usual spot, emitting a welcoming hum upon her approach which anyone else would put down as a distant car thrumming along the main road. 

The door swings open the second Yaz comes to a stop before the blue box, the Doctor’s grinning head following suit. “Hiya, Yaz! Got to admit, I’m proper excited about this. Shopping with Yaz? Amazin’.”

“You’re going to freeze,” Yaz chides in favour of a greeting when the Doctor steps out from the TARDIS in her usual lightweight attire. 

On the contrary, Yaz tucks her maroon scarf closer to her neck and shoves her hands into her pockets, rocking on her toes to keep from turning into a human icicle. “It’s mid-winter and we’ll be outside most of the day. Don’t you have a thicker coat?”

“Nah,” the Doctor shrugs, closing the door behind her with a click. “I run colder than you. I barely notice any temperature changes.” She bounces on the spot like a toddler running on pure sugar, turning toward the city. “Ready to go?” 

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get frostbite,” Yaz comments, leading the way.

Falling into step like they’re two halves of the same puzzle, the Doctor bumps shoulders with Yaz to garner her attention. “D’you think it’s going to snow today? I thought I’d be able to smell it by now. Perhaps it’s coming later.”

Yaz knits her brows and throws her best friend a quizzical smile as they cross the quiet road. “You can  _ smell _ snow?”

“‘Course,” the Doctor shrugs as though that’s a perfectly normal notion. “It tastes like spearmint.”

“What about rain? What does that taste like?”

“Liquorice.” 

“Sounds accurate,” Yaz nods. “I hate liquorice.” 

“Ah,” the Doctor notes, folding her arms.  _ So much for running cool _ . “That’s because you haven’t tried it dipped in—” 

“Stop right there.” 

“What’s wrong with liquorice dipped in ketchup?” 

The Doctor pauses when no response is earnt, seeking her out. “Yaz, why d’you suddenly look so green?” 

* * *

The shopping centre is vibrant and bustling and Yaz wishes nothing more than to have secured a toddler leash for her always inquisitive friend. 

“Doctor, this way,” she directs, catching the sleeve of her coat to pry her away from a busy toy shop. “There's loads I need to get.”

“D’you need to go in there? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind —” 

“Not today, no. Sorry, Doctor. We can stop by once we’re finished, alright?”

Any upset on the Doctor’s face dissipates at the offer. Satisfied with the deal, she pads along at Yaz’s side without question. “Thanks, Yaz.”

As if she could deny her anything. 

Two shops and a handful of early Christmas presents purchased later, Yaz registers the blueish tinge to the Doctor’s lips and the adorable pink sheen gracing her nose. 

Swapping her bags to one hand, Yaz moves to unwind the dark fabric from around her neck. “Doctor, you look stone cold. C’mon, you can borrow my scarf.”

Raising both hands, the Doctor shakes her head adamantly. “Honestly, I’m fine. You need it more than I do.”

“Doctor —” 

“Ooh, what’s this?” the Doctor interrupts, stepping past the threshold of a health and beauty store and immediately plucking up a lipstick tube. “S’it a fancy pen?”

Heaving a breath through her lungs and shaking her head, Yaz momentarily curses herself for her initial invite.

When the blonde fishes out her sonic to get a better understanding of the product, Yaz baulks. “Alright, come on. Clothes are upstairs.”

* * *

When Yaz had originally asked the Doctor if she’d be interested in joining her for retail therapy, she should’ve expected the whole experience to be one exasperating act of babysitting. 

After narrowly avoiding a grumpy security guard when the Doctor thought it would be a good idea to try to fix the dodgy lighting in the dressing rooms by clambering up atop the cubicle walls, Yaz breaks even. “Doctor?”

Suitably chided but still eyeing the flickering bulb, the Doctor nods. “Listen, I’ve already said sorry—”

“D’you reckon you could grab us some coffees while I finish up?” Yaz poises instead, offering up a handful of change the alien eagerly accepts. The Doctor loves being assigned tasks and she’d really rather keep her job, too. “I’ll come and meet you in ten minutes?”

“Can I get a hot chocolate instead?”

“Yes.”

“With extra sprinkles?”

“Knock yourself out, Doctor.” Yaz pauses, furrowing her brow. “Not literally.”

“Gotcha. One coffee and one hot chocolate, coming our way. Laters, Yaz.” Suave, the Doctor waves her off. 

Then immediately catches her suspenders on a clothing rail and almost takes a whole row down. 

Once she’s safely disappeared from view, Yaz moves to the winter collection with her own mission in mind. A flash of rainbow and mustard greet the corner of her eye and, narrowing her vision, she hunts the garments down. 

* * *

By the time she’s finished up her last purchases of the day, she’s lapsed her time by five minutes. Still, it’s not hard to distinguish the Doctor in the crowds, her yellow braces a homing flare amidst a see of navies and greys. 

Sat patiently at a rustic table outside a popular chain of coffee shops, the Doctor’s knee bounces and her palms encircle her mountainous hot beverage with undisguised shivers. 

As soon as Yaz strolls into her view, though, she can see the Doctor training herself out of the shaky movements and reapplying her facade like a mask. 

“Did y’get any hot chocolate with your cream?” Yaz pipes up as she settles into the seat opposite, bags falling between them. 

The Doctor’s grinning mouth meets the curve of the mug as she takes a warming sip. 

It’s not a surprise that she comes away with cream lining her top lip. 

“You’ve got a bit of cream, just—” Yaz motions with her fingers, curling her free hand around her coffee. 

Like a child, the Doctor wipes the residue away with a quick swipe of her tongue and the rest with her index finger, which she pops between her lips until it’s sufficiently cleaned. “Got you a brownie, by the way,” she informs with a bashful grin;  _ always grinning, _ and nudges the small plate over. “Hope you don’t mind I used up the rest of the change.”

“Oh.” Yaz’s cheeks flush just as the sun breaks through a gap in the clouds and offers them a measly few minutes of warmth. “Thanks, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s head ducks and, beneath the table, a boot-clad foot meets her own. She can’t tell if it’s by accident, but the Doctor’s expression doesn’t falter. Her pokerface is effortless. 

Or perhaps, more realistically, Yaz is just imagining things. 

“I got you something, too,” she divulges to keep her mind reeling, and because the Doctor’s cheeks are taking on a paler hue with each passing second. 

Stubbornness can’t keep one warm no matter how hard they try. 

The contents of the bag she offers her best friend, however, might just do the job. 

Like a Christmas tree, the Doctor lights up. “These are for me?” 

“Yep. Have a look,” she encourages, hiding her apprehension in swigs of hot coffee and nibbles of gooey brownie. She breaks the latter in half, in the end, and wordlessly slides the rest towards her counterpart. 

Delving past the opening, the Doctor plucks a mustard beanie free from the bag first. Within seconds, it’s settled over blonde locks and warming pink ears. 

A brand new scarf winds around her neck, next, emblazoned with the same rainbow swathing her chest. 

And, lastly, the Doctor plucks out a pair of navy fingerless gloves. They spend mere milliseconds out of the bag before she slips them over her hands with a gleeful laugh. 

“Yaz, these are brilliant,” the Doctor surmises, eyes bright and cheeks already regaining colour. She looks warm and cosy and, taming the organ thumping in her chest, Yaz has to take an extra inhale save for losing her breath or revealing all. “Thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve these.”

Emboldened, Yaz reaches between them to pull the Doctor’s new beanie a touch further down her forehead so it just graces her brows. “You’ve just got to  _ actually _ wear them when it’s cold out like this, alright? I don’t want you freezing on me.”

“It’s a deal,” she agrees with a scrunch of her nose. 

Yaz watches as she considers the sweet treat halved in her favour, trading a sceptical glance before she bites down with hungry enthusiasm. 

“This has been the best day I’ve had in ages, Yaz,” she mumbles around her next bite, crumbs already gathering in her new scarf. Yaz resists the urge to shake her head in amusement. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Doctor. Literally. It’s nice not to have to run away from anything for once.”

“It doesn’t happen  _ all  _ the t—” the Doctor withers under her domed brow. “Okay, it happens all the time. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re always right.”

Yaz snickers. “I am.”

“Shut up.” 

Half a brownie and two beverages which warm them to their bones later, the Doctor slips cosied fingers through Yaz’s as they begin their walk back. 

In the wake of Yaz’s muted gasp, the Doctor swings their linked hands. 

“Fingerless gloves, Yaz. Amazin’.”


End file.
